Worth A Thousand Words
by pygmymeese
Summary: A collection of drabbles based on words, two per word. Prompt: Panache. Alex is smooth and Jack is pushy... and yearning for turkey legs. Updated sporadically, but technically complete.
1. Coiffure

**Worth A Thousand Words**

_A collection of drabbles based on words. Prompt: Coiffure. Blunt learns that you don't mess with Alex's hair. EVER._

**Disclaimer: **I'm not Anthony Horowitz. I don't own Alex Rider. Blunt enough?

**Note:** Sorry if you've had enough of drabbles. I like them, though, and since I promised myself I'd post something this month and I'm not happy with any of my one-shots yet, I'm posting these. What I do (I've been drabbling since I came upon the scrumptious word _alterity_) is I take Merriam-Webster's Word of the Day and write 2 unrelated drabbles from it, a funny and a dramatic one, to (hopefully) improve my writing and help me gain ideas. Tell me if you think it's working!

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><p><em><strong>Coiffure<strong>, n._

_A style or manner of arranging the hair_

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><p><strong>Consolation<strong>_  
><em>

The wrath of an enraged teenager can be quite the maelstrom.

The wrath of an enraged teenager who _also_ happens to be the world's deadliest spy is a lot worse.

At least, that's what Blunt thought.

"…after all this time and all those missions, you really don't think I deserve this _one_ thing that doesn't even require you to lift a single finger!"

"Alright, Mr. Rider! Don't cut your hair short! I'll tell the sergeant to make an exception."

"Damn right, you will." And with a single hair flip (his bangs really were quite long), Alex strode from the room.

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><p><strong>Reflection<strong>

Sometimes, Alex wondered how much he resembled his father. And despite reminding himself time and time again that connecting with someone he'd never known was stupid, he couldn't help but imagine his jaw line a bit sharper and his hair a bit shorter whenever he looked in a mirror.

This time, however, he wasn't just imagining.

"All off. I want a buzz cut."

"Are you sure, sir?"

"Absolutely."

Because even if he doesn't look exactly like John Rider, maybe the attempt will give him some of John's character, because heaven knows Alex lost most of his all too long ago.

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><p><em>Please review. Even if you tell me that drabbles suck and I shouldn't be doing this. And as always, <em>give me your ideas, comments, questions, concerns, criticisms, witticisms, andor limericks!_  
><em>


	2. Saguaro

**Worth A Thousand Words**

_A collection of drabbles based on words. Prompt: Saguaro. Mrs. Jones' real first name, and the metaphorical qualities of cacti._

**Disclaimer: **Oh. You think I'm Anthony Horowitz? You're funny! :)**  
><strong>

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><p><em><strong>Saguaro<strong>, n._

_A tall columnar usually sparsely-branched cactus (Camegiea gigantea) of dry areas of the southwestern US and Mexico that bears white flowers and a scaly reddish edible fruit that may attain a height up to 50 feet (16 meters)._

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><p><strong>By Any Other Name<strong>

"Have you thought about what Alex would do if he found out you lied to him about your first name?" Blunt inquired as he and Mrs. Jones stepped into the elevator at the Royal & General.

"We're not going to use him again, so I doubt he'll be in a position to find out."

Blunt gave Mrs. Jones a level stare.

"But _if _he found out, I'm sure he'd understand why I use Tulip instead." Mrs. Jones gave an uncharacteristic snort. "Avid gardeners indeed. Except my parents decided to grow cacti."

And with that, Saguaro "Tulip" Jones exited the elevator.

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><p><strong>The Unoriginality of a Rose<em><br>_**

It was a stupid English assignment that sent Alex into his latest slump.

_If you were a plant, what would you be?_

After much thought, Alex came up with the perfect answer.

_A cactus_, he wrote_, because though they live in a dry, unaccommodating environment, cacti survive anyway, leeching moisture from rare, precious pools of water. Anyone who gets close gets hurt from the spines, unless approached in the right way, though there are still no guarantees. My circumstances and careless actions make me a cactus, no doubt._

However, what Alex forgot was that, in the end, even cacti bloom.

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><p><em>Have you gotten weird prompts like that in English class? I have. Of course, my teachers tend to be unusually strange... Please review. <em>And you know to give me your ideas, comments, questions, concerns, criticisms, witticisms, andor limericks!__


	3. Acolyte

**Worth A Thousand Words**

_A collection of drabbles based on words. Prompt: Acolyte. Jack is trying, and Tom finds Alex inconsiderate. _

**Disclaimer: **It's only been a day since the last drabble. Do you really think that's enough time for me to suddenly gain the rights to Alex Rider? Well, no. It's not.**  
><strong>

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><p><em><strong>Acolyte<strong>, n._

_One who attends or assists; follower_

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><p><strong>Insecurities<br>**

There wasn't much she could do. Feed him well, keep him clothed, love him lots—but it never seemed enough. So the further he slipped from her comprehension, the more she told herself that she would _always_ be there for him. That no matter how useless she was, she would be his support. That no matter how scared she felt, nothing would make her leave.

And no matter how many times the seductive thought of leaving entered her mind—because she _was _useless, and she _was _scared—she would stay. For Alex.

If only she could make herself believe that.

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><p><strong>Inconsiderate<strong>

"Hey, Al."

"What!" Alex snarled, irritated at Tom for disrupting his work once again.

"If you're James Bond, what does that make me?"

Alex glared at Tom. "I don't have time for thi—"

"I mean," Tom interrupted, "Bond doesn't have a clear sidekick. M and Q have already been taken, so just his floozy Bond girls are left and I will NOT be one of them."

"You'd look horrible in a bikini," Alex agreed.

"Seriously, Alex! You should've been more considerate and gotten drafted by…the Lone Ranger, or some Time Lords, or something. What kind of friend are you?"

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><p><em>Thanks for the reviews, favorites, and alerts! I get all sappy and smile-y when I see a new one, no matter what story they're for. If I haven't responded to a review yet, sorry, I'll get there soon! Remember: <em><em>give me your ideas, comments, questions, concerns, criticisms, witticisms, andor limericks!___

**___Edits 9/15/14: ___**___Minor grammar fixes.  
><em>__


	4. Collaborate

**Worth A Thousand Words**

_A collection of drabbles based on words. Prompt: Collaborate. Alex is desperate, and K-Unit is scolded._

**Disclaimer: **I'm sitting here, waiting for laundry to be done, something so unglamorous that there's no way I could own Alex Rider.

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><p><em><strong>Collaborate<strong>, v._

_1) to work jointly with others_

_2) to cooperate with an enemy and especially and occupying force_

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><p><strong>Cornered<strong>_  
><em>

There were no heroics this time. Just a boy who wanted his sister—and Jack _was_ his sister, no matter what anyone said—back. There were no clever plans of double crossing, no back-up team hiding in shadowed corners, no brilliant linchpin move for the end. All he had was his desperation and his loyalty, a dangerous combination by any standard.

So there he was, standing alone in front of the enemy with broken eyes and only one option. The greater good could go shove itself and let him do this.

"I'll tell you everything. Just give her back."

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><p><strong>Collusion<strong>

The sergeant glared. "You had no idea what Cub was planning in _your own cabin_?"

Wolf, Snake, and Eagle winced.

"He hid his tools under his bunk, sir," Eagle offered.

"It's impossible to hide things under your bunks. You had to have helped him! How else could three elite SAS soldiers overlook something like that?"

Snake reminded him, "We helped clean up, sir."

"I still walk into the mess hall and see patches of fabric stuck everywhere because _your_ teammate managed to glue five different units to the benches!"

"It sounds a lot worse when you put it that way."

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><p><em><em><em>I couldn't help but think, "Stop! Collaborate and listen..." when I wrote these drabbles. Anyway, give me your ideas,<em>_____ questions,______ comments, concerns, criticisms, witticisms, and/or limericks!___

**___Edits 9/15/14: ___**___Minor grammar fixes.  
><em>__


	5. Palooka

**Worth A Thousand Words**

_A collection of drabbles based on words. Prompt: Palooka. Snake scowls at withheld information, and Alex feels pointless._

**Disclaimer: **I'm not feeling creative. See previous chapters.

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><p><em><strong>Palooka<strong>, n._

_1) An inexperienced or incompetent boxer_

_2) Oaf, lout_

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><p><strong>The Learning Curve<strong>_  
><em>

"Now raise your right hand up a litt— yes, just like that. Good." Snake got into position in front of his opponent, Cub. "Okay, since I know you've never boxed before, I'll go a little easy on you this time," said Snake.

"But Snake—"

"No, Cub. I don't want you getting hurt." Alex sighed, resigned.

"Fine. Ready when you are."

Snake rushed towards Alex in a flurry of movement. A minute later, Snake found himself wheezing facedown upon the mats.

"What was that!" Snake indignantly sputtered.

"I was _trying_ to tell you that I'm a karate black belt!"

"God dammit."

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><p><strong>Choices<strong>

It was the only thing Alex could say he was good at. Fighting.

He couldn't protect his friends. Sabina and Jack proved that.

He wasn't smart either. A smart person would have said no to Blunt. Would have finished those missions quickly and easily. Would have thought of a plan that let everyone survive.

He wouldn't think of going back to MI6.

So…fighting. He was already a black belt. Learning other martial arts should be fairly easy.

And maybe with that, he'd stop fumbling around with lives and worlds, and finally, finally be left to do what he could.

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><p><em>Review, so <em><em><em>give me your ideas,<em>_____ questions,______ comments, concerns, criticisms, witticisms, and/or limericks!____

**____Edits 9/15/14: ____**____Minor grammar fixes.____


	6. Jalousie

**Worth A Thousand Words**

_A collection of drabbles based on words. Prompt: Jalousie. Jack comforts Alex, and Alex is shoved into a closet._

**Disclaimer: **I own the things I own. Alex Rider is not one of them.

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><p><em><strong>Jalousie<strong>, n._

_ A blind with adjustable horizontal slats for admitting light and air while excluding direct sun and rain_.

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><p><strong>Yet Again<br>**

Eyes peek out through the slats of the blinds.

"Is he here?"

"No," Alex replies with a trembling voice.

Sighing, Jack walks over to the strangely silent eight-year-old boy and wraps him in her arms.

"It's okay, Alex. His flight was probably delayed. Ian'll be here soon."

He settles his head against her shoulder. "I miss him."

"Honey," she says softly, heart breaking, "you've waited a whole month. You can wait another hour."

Hopefully, the hours won't turn to days won't turn to weeks like before. The well-being of a little boy depended on it, and hers depended on his.

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><p><strong>A Rather Strange Meeting<br>**

Eyes peek out through the slats of the blinds.

"Dammit. Why's he— hide!" Alex's girlfriend shoves him into a small closet just as her brother walks in.

"Becca! Thought I'd drop by. How are you?" Alex silently removes a hanger poking his chest.

"Fine, fine!" Becca says, conspicuously anxious. "Mum's not in, though. Come back later." Alex hopes the hitherto mysterious brother doesn't notice.

He does.

Alex hears the brother shuffle closer, before Becca squawks and the door suddenly bursts open. He squints at the light.

"Alex?"

Alex blinks, disbelieving. "Ben?"

"Fancy meeting you in my parent's closet."

"Fancy that."

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><p><em>Confession: I thought <em>jalousie_ meant regular blinds. It wasn't until after I wrote these that I learned they're those glass blind/window things. I didn't write new drabbles. DEAL. Also note that the second was extremely difficult to pare down to exactly 100 words. I cut out nearly all of my description :(  
><em>

_Thanks to everyone who's reviewed, favorite-ed, and alert-ed; it means a heck of a lot! And give me your ideas, questions, comments, concerns, criticisms, witticisms, and/or limericks!_

**_Edits 9/15/14: _**_Minor grammar fixes._


	7. Wistful

**Worth A Thousand Words**

__A collection of drabbles based on words. Prompt: Wistful. Alex laments his son's laziness and classmates recall a good Alex Rider. _ _

**Disclaimer: **Why would a legitimate, best-selling author spend time writing drabbles? They're not even full stories! So no, I'm not Anthony Horowitz.

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><p><em><strong>Wistful<strong>, adj._

_1) Full of yearning or desire tinged with melancholy; inspiring such yearning_

_2) Musingly sad; pensive_

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><p><strong>Impudence<strong>_ (Go check out So1said's _The Report_ to see a real story about Alex and son :D)  
><em>

Josh Rider was sprawled on a couch, snoozing, when his dad walked up behind him.

"You know, when I was a kid, I wasn't this lazy," Alex said with mock severity.

"You're _not_ in a position to compare your childhood with mine, Dad," the teen said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"I wasn't nearly this impertinent, either."

"That's a blatant lie." Josh sighed. "What happened to the days when role models were honest, kind people, not these cheap adults you get nowadays?"

"Fine. Next time you want karate lessons or a camping trip, go ask your _honest _role models."

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><p><strong>In Memoriam<br>**

"Remember Alex before his uncle died?" James recalled with a faint smile. Other classmates, all friends of Alex _before_, nodded.

"He was always so nice."

"And a brilliant football player."

"Such a good friend." A chorus of agreements echoed through the small group. Funeral music drifted through the air.

"Damn drugs. Took another good one."

"The government should take better care of orphaned kids like Alex."

"Do something about their programmes, yeah."

Tom chuckled darkly. _I could say so many things to that, but nothing'll give Alex his life back. I wish they knew,_ he thought_. I wish they understood._

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><p><em><em><em><em><em>And we're done! At least, for now. If I ever need another break from obsessing over half-written fanfics, I might post some of the others sometime. Thanks a BUNCH for reading, reviewing, and favoriting, hope you enjoyed, and give me your ideas,<em>_____ questions,______ comments, concerns, criticisms, witticisms, and/or limericks!____  
><em>

**_____Edits 9/15/14: _____**_____Minor grammar fixes._____


	8. Panache

**Worth A Thousand Words**

__A collection of drabbles based on words. Prompt: Panache. Alex is smooth and Jack is pushy...and yearning for turkey legs.__

**Disclaimer:** If I were going to impersonate an author, it would not be Anthony Horowitz (no offense to him or his fans) (says the girl writing fanfic in his world).__  
><em>_

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><p><em><strong>Panache<strong>__, n._

1) an ornamental tuft (as of feathers) especially on a helmet

2) dash or flamboyance in style and action : verve

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><p><strong>Damn, He's Good<strong>

Ben was chatting with a co-worker when The Prodigy returned.

"Namaste, Royal and General!" Alex Rider ambled past the cubicles, words echoing through the halls. "And yes, crisis averted. Thank me later." He stopped next to Ben's co-worker. "Natalie, you look absolutely beautiful." With a twist of his wrist, a rose appeared. "For you."

"Th-thanks," she stammered as he walked on.

"To think he was ever a quiet kid," Ben mused.

Natalie smelled the rose and blushed. "I like him better now."

Ben looked down the hall. Alex's saunter and cheeky, genuine grin were still there.

"I agree," he smiled.

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><p><strong>The Armour is Metaphorical?<strong>

Standing in the middle of a renaissance fair, wearing a short, blue tunic, black tights, and a stupid, feathered hat was not Alex's idea of fun.

"This is the last time I agree to anything you ask."

"But you look adorable!" Jack squealed. A stand caught her eye. "Hey, let's get a turkey leg."

Alex grimaced. "Those things are awful, Jack! That's it, you're insane."

"What does it matter as long as I got you in a costume? Tights and _everything,_" she said, tugging the feather on his hat. "If only you had agreed to wear that suit of armour…"

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><p><strong>AN**: Let's see: 1. I hate turkey legs. The meat is only good for sandwiches. 2. The drama drabble is a happy drama :) YAY! But I cut out a lot of Alex-being-smooth to meet word count. Boo. 3. This is to hold me down until I finish my companion piece to An Unexpected Return and finish beta-ing So1said's next story (hehe, you're all going to love it!). 4. _Crocodile Tears_ and _Scorpia Rising_ never happened. EVER. 5. Give me your ideas, comments, questions, concerns, criticisms, witticisms, and/or limericks!

**_Edits 9/15/14: _**_Minor grammar fixes._


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